


Helium

by toraguru



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alex is our pure boy, Eventual Romance, Fake Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's guy love, JojaCorp sux don't @ me, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, between two guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-19 06:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toraguru/pseuds/toraguru
Summary: Alex and the male!Farmer, slow-burn, fake marriage. Because the Farmer broke his employment contract to take over the farm, he signed an agreement before leaving JojaCorp. On a cool Summer morning, it comes back to bite him in the ass: he receives a letter from Joja invoking a hidden clause of this agreement, demanding that he return to work for them in Zuzu City for 1 year. The only exemptions are for the elderly, the disabled, or individuals who have since married.His good friend Alex has a solution: a fake marriage.





	1. What Wouldn't You Do?

_5th of Summer_

_Year 2_

A year ago, the Farmer had gazed out of a bus window and watched the life he knew slowly disappear.

The neon signs and grey towers had slipped behind rolling green hills as they descended into the valley, like the sun setting over the horizon at the end of a long day. At that time, a deep unease had settled in his stomach. Sitting in that uncomfortable bus seat, he remembered thinking to himself, how could he possibly be cut out for a life in the country? But to his pleasant surprise, the sun had risen again to shine brightly over a new chapter of his life.

It was hard work, but honest. The monotonous grind of life at JojaCorp had seemed to sap the very life from his soul, but on the farm, he grew to enjoy the routine. He had grown to love the scent of fresh earth in a freshly tilled field, of damp rock deep inside the mines, of salty ocean air crashing over him like a wave. A year into farming, these scents were no longer foreign and new, but comforting, like his grandfather’s warm hand on his shoulder all of those years ago. Each breath out here was like a cold glass of water; he couldn’t even remember what it was like to inhale a thick cloud of exhaust fumes.

The sights and sounds of Stardew Valley and Pelican Town now felt like coming home. When he opened his eyes each morning, the first thing he saw was soft light filtering in through the old windows of the farmhouse. The sounds of clucking hens and buzzing bees called to him in ways that the incessant hum of fluorescent lighting and clacking keyboards never could.

As he now sat on the front porch in the pale morning light, the Farmer held his hands in front of him to inspect them. His soft hands were no longer soft, but calloused and rough from many hours gripping a hoe or an axe. These were hands that held stories. They had character.

He owed all of it to his farm. _His._

The quiet screech of his old mailbox opening and closing shook him out of his reverie. He raised his head to spot Mayor Lewis slipping a few envelopes into the box. He gave the man a friendly wave. “Hey there!” the Farmer called out.

Lewis gave him a smile, kind eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hello!” he answered. “Hope you’re not planning on working too hard in this heat. It’s only half past seven, but it feels like midday!”

The Farmer raised his glass of water. “I’m hydrating,” he said.

Lewis nodded in approval, chuckling. “I can see that. Good thing you’ve got Alex around these days. Boy’s as strong as an ox!”

The Farmer laughed. “Sure is. He says it’s the best workout routine he’s ever had. I’ve got him mucking out the barn today. After he gets done weeding the melon patch, that is.” He jerked his chin towards the fenced-off area in front of the farmhouse, where the beginnings of melon plants were starting to grow.

His friend was bent over the farthest row, the muscles in his back and arms bunching as he yanked at the weeds sprouting alongside the infant crops. His letterman jacket was hung on a nearby fencepost, undershirt nowhere to be found and bare skin glistening with sweat. Alex raised a dirty hand to swipe beads of perspiration from his brow as he worked, careful to avoid messing with the gel in his brown hair.

Mayor Lewis waved. “Hello, Alex! The Farmer has you working hard, I see?” he called out to him.

Alex turned, squinting against the rising sun. When his eyes adjusted, he grinned back at the man. “Hey, Mayor! Sure does!” he called back. Immediately, he turned his undivided attention back to the task at hand.

Lewis chuckled and turned back to the Farmer. “Glad to see you’ve made a friend. Well, I still have some letters to deliver. Take care, son!” he said, before heading back down the road towards town.

“You, too!” the Farmer called after him. He took a sip of the cold water before setting it down on the porch, hopping up to check the mail that had just been delivered. He hummed a breezy tune as he opened the mailbox, pulling out three crisp envelopes. He opened them one by one.

The first one was an ad from Pierre: there was a sale on red cabbage seeds. The Farmer took note.

The second letter was from Clint. He wanted to test his new tools out on a copper bar, and was willing to pay 100G for the trouble. The Farmer thought he had an extra copper bar lying around in one of his chests, and made a mental note to check for it before he headed into town today.

Then, the third letter.

This envelope was...different. It was as white as snow, and so crisp he could probably shave his beard with the edge. The Farmer turned it over to inspect the return address. And stopped cold.

The name was printed in blue ink: Joja Corporation. Zuzu City. His old offices.

The Farmer tore open the envelope. His hands were shaking, from anger or from anxiety, he wasn’t sure. He ripped the top of the package open and yanked out the letter.

He read it. And read it again. The words weren’t making sense.

 

_Dear Employee,_

_We thank you for your years of service to our company._

_Our records indicate that you terminated your employment contract with us 1.287 years before expiry, and as such, are a signatory of JojaCorp’s Exit Agreement version 1.7B. V1.7B permits the termination of an existing employment contract contingent on the employee’s acceptance of the terms of the Exit Agreement._

_This is a letter of notice that JojaCorp is invoking Clause 4 of your Exit Agreement. Clause 4 mandates that, after 1 year has passed post-employment, any employee who has terminated their contract early with JojaCorp can be seconded from their current role to again work for Joja for the time remaining on their terminated contract._

_As such, you are required under contract to return to work for JojaCorp in Zuzu City for the remainder of your contract. Your work term commences on: SUMMER 20. The time remaining on your contract as of SUMMER 5 is: 1.287 years._

_JojaCorp is legally required to inform you of the following exemptions to Clause 4. No employee shall be subject to the terms of the Exit Agreement in the case that they are elderly, disabled, or in a domestic union with a citizen of a community outside of Zuzu City._

_We are looking forward to your continued employment with JojaCorp. We hope you have an excellent day._

 

The Farmer let the letter flutter to the ground. He soon followed it. A million thoughts rushed through his mind as he stared at the sky. JojaCorp. Exit Agreement. What Exit Agreement? Did he sign that? He didn’t sign that! Clause 4. Continued employment. Zuzu City.

He...he has to go... _back?_

A shadow crossed over his line of sight. It had light brown hair and a worried face. “You good, dude?!” Alex asked him. “You just collapsed!”

The Farmer couldn’t speak. He just handed the letter to Alex with shaking hands. Alex grabbed the letter from him. 

Alex’s eyes followed the print slowly, his brow furrowed intensely and he put forth the effort to read the letter. In his shock, the Farmer had forgotten Alex’s reading condition.

As Alex read the letter, the Farmer heard Blue trot up beside him to inspect the situation. The dog nudged his cheek with his cool, wet nose, whining when the Farmer did not react.

Alex shook his head in confusion. “What does this mean? I don’t follow.”

The Farmer took the letter back from Alex and sat up. His friend took a seat on the grass beside him, hands on his knees, awaiting an explanation. “I think,” the Farmer began slowly. He swallowed against a lump on his throat. “I think that JojaCorp is forcing me to come back to work. In Zuzu City.”

Alex was taken aback. Eyes wide, he grabbed the Farmer by the shoulders. “What! That’s insane! What...how? Why!”

The Farmer frowned down at the letter. “Apparently, I signed some sort of...agreement? And there was this hidden clause and…. _fuck!”_ He erupted, causing Alex to startle. The Farmer leaped to his feet, throwing the letter on the ground and stomping it into the earth. “Yoba damn it, _fucking JojaCorp!”_

Blue barked, confused at his outburst. He tilted his golden head to the side and whined.

Alex just stared at him with wide eyes. “Dude,” he started, and stopped. He looked like a kicked puppy as he tried to find the words he was looking for. “You….you can’t just leave!” he finally struggled out. He reached out and grabbed the trampled letter from the ground, uncrumpling it to examine it again.

The Farmer sunk down onto the porch and buried his face in his hands. A whole year at JojaCorp? Insanity. A year away from the farm would cripple him. It had taken him five seasons to clear the fields, collect the resources to build the barn and the coop, to raise his animals, to earn the funds to support his crops. Five seasons even just to make a friend. All of his hard work would be lost if he left.

Alex grabbed his shoulder with one hand and shook it. “It says here,” he paused, frowning at the page in concentration. “It says here that you’re exempt if you’re old, disabled, or in a ‘domestic union’ with someone outside of Zuzu City. So...married?”

The Farmer dropped his hands from his face, taking the page from Alex. His friend was right; there were three possible exemptions under Clause 4. “I don’t meet any of that criteria,” the Farmer said. He sagged, laughing humorlessly. “Guess I’ll lay down in front of a falling tree and hope it smashes my legs.”

Alex’s eyes widened in shock, and maybe a bit of anger. “Farmer!” he said. “Are you completely nuts?! I won’t let you hurt yourself!”

The Farmer gave Alex a slight smile. “You’re right,” he admitted. Then his devastated expression returned. “But what am I going to do? I’m not elderly! And I’m not even dating, let alone married.”

Alex chewed on the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. “We could get you hitched?” he suggested. “There’s lots of girls in town, you know.”

The Farmer shifted uncomfortably. “You know that I haven’t so much as spoken to most of them. I guess I’m sort of good friends with Haley, but…I think we both know her opinion on marriage.”

Alex gave him a knowing look. “Agreed, man. She’s a great pal, but that’s where she draws the line, 100%.”

The two of them sighed, looking at each other with equally sad eyes. A profound sense of loss crept through each of their minds and swirled around in their chests, tightening around their hearts. The Farmer was really leaving. For real.

The Farmer offered his friend - no, his _best_ friend - a weak smile. He got to his feet and provided Alex a hand up. “C’mon,” he said. “Don’t worry about this. It’s my problem. Let’s just get our work done today and you can head home early.”

Alex takes his hand and rises, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach and prickling at the back of his throat for the rest of the day.

  
  


That night, Alex lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. Rain pattered outside, drumming a comforting rhythm on the old roof of his grandparents’ home. He usually loved to fall asleep to the sound, but not tonight.

His stomach was still twisted in knots over the Farmer’s news. At dinner, he hadn’t even touched his grandma’s famous rainy-day stew, and the bed beneath him right then felt like a boat out on the ocean during a storm. He _really_ needed a barf bag.

That tight feeling in his throat was back. It gripped him, threatening to bring tears to his eyes. He and the Farmer, they were just getting to be good friends. How could that be over so quickly? Other than Haley and the Farmer, Alex didn’t have a lot of close friends. It seemed that everyone he was close with eventually left him. For whatever reason.

He remembered his friend Lucas, back in grade school. He remembered the thrill he felt when they played cops and robbers together, and how happy it made him to have another person to share his gridball card collection with. He remembered the ache he felt in his heart when Lucas had moved away. He remembered the sad look in his eyes as he gifted Alex his favourite toy truck before getting in the moving van with his parents. Gone.

He screwed up his face to keep the tears from flowing. Memories of Lucas were changing, shifting, and soon Alex found himself in the hospital. He remembered the sickening smell of cleaning products and the glare from the too-white walls. Walking into the hospital room with his eyes shut, because of how scared he was to see what _she_ looked like. His mom. Touching her cheek, feeling her skin, once soft but now fragile like tissue paper. Hugging her and feeling her bony body under the sheets, terrifyingly thin. Holding her hand as she slipped away, taking with her the only person that ever truly loved him. Gone. Forever.

He remembered the day his dad had dropped him off at his grandparents’. Pulling up to the blue house, watching his dad lean over the cab of the truck to pop the door open. The sharp smell of booze on his dad’s breath as his face leaned in close. Hugging his backpack tight in his arms, his Zuzu City Tunnelers bag, the one that Mom had bought him for his 7th birthday, as he looked between his dad and the open truck door. The confusing push-and-pull he felt staring at the man who was both his hero and his villain. The startling boom of his father’s voice telling him to get out of the truck. Loud, like a clap of thunder.

A decade and a half later, the memory made him flinch, lying there in the darkness in the safety of his own bed.

Gone. For good.

As Alex stared at the ceiling, tears streaming down his cheeks, chest heaving, he realized that the only person who had ever stuck around was Haley. And he loved her for it. Haley was soft, and warm, and treated him like a _person._ But there was so much that Haley couldn’t give him. Things that he didn’t know he needed until he met the Farmer.

The Farmer was someone he could relate to, familiar in ways he had never known. They both loved working outside, with their hands. They both loved pursuing long-term visions and goals. They both loved the salty ocean air and sand on their bare feet and ice-cold lemonade on a hot summer day. When they had finally got to know each other, Alex found himself looking forward to a lifetime of having a friend like that by his side.

Instead, it looked like that friendship would be over in 14 days.

Alex rubs the tears from his eyes. He thinks back to their conversation, to the Farmer’s proposal of hurting himself on purpose. He imagines the farmer in a wheelchair like his grandpa, for life. He’d never go on long walks through his fields, never sprint across the beach to catch a gridball, all because of JojaCorp. That was _not_ an option.

Then there was the final exemption. Marriage.

Alex knew the Farmer was right; in the year that he’s lived in Pelican Town, he hadn’t had time to get to know most of the townspeople other than Alex and Haley. Haley was good friends with the Farmer, that much was true, but she had a big problem with the “patriarchal institution of marriage”. Haley was the strongest person Alex knew and he respected her views, even if he didn’t understand them. He knew they couldn’t ask her to put that aside for the Farmer’s sake.

At that moment, a tentative thought crosses his mind from the deep depths of his brain.

It emerged brightly from the darkness like a far-away torch. A cautious, colourful tendril unfurled in its newfound light, peeking into his conscious mind, positing the teensiest hint at a suggestion. A possible path forward. A solution.

A wave of shame crashed down on the thought. It slammed down on the tendril, washing it away, back to the deep recesses it came from. Echoing in his head, he can hear his father’s angry shouting, feeling the ghost of a stinging slap across his face. _That_ wasn’t an option. Alex couldn’t even entertain the thought. But in the wake of that shameful wave, he was filled with thoughts of his mother.

What would he have done to keep her?

Anything?

Alex jolted out of bed on autopilot, refusing to consciously think about what he was doing, slipping on his pajama pants and sneakers and rushing out into the darkness and rain, towards the beach.

  
  


The Farmer sat at the kitchen table.

He glanced at the clock: half past midnight. He really should be getting to bed, but that was looking more and more impossible with every passing second.

Spread out onto every bare inch of the table were his financial statements, his shipping ledgers, his order forms, his deed. And on top, that dirty, crumpled letter from Joja. Meticulously, the Farmer punched numbers into his calculator. Somewhere, anywhere, in his finances, there had got to be the funds to pay for someone to care for the farm for an entire year.

He pressed the _enter_ key, and sighed dejectedly. Just a week prior, he had spent a significant amount of his savings on expanding his home, which made the process of scraping together extra funds exceptionally difficult. He punched in some new numbers. Maybe if he sold his cows and chickens, he could potentially scrounge up enough to pay someone to keep the fields clear of debris and winterize the buildings.

He pressed _enter._ Not even close.

The Farmer nearly threw the damned thing across the room, looking back at the letter on the table with such hatred that he hoped it would burst into flames. A year away meant a year of strictly Joja income. That was barely enough to cover rent in the city, let alone pay someone to look after things while he’s gone. And even if it was, would it matter? When he came back to the farm next summer, would he really be able to pick up where he left off? 

A sudden knock at the door made him jump, dropping the calculator on the floor. It was the middle of the night. Who in the name of Yoba was visiting at this time of night? He cautiously walked to the door, pulling it open slowly.

There, in the dark, in the pouring rain, was Alex Mullner. His best friend. His farmhand. “Alex?” he asked, incredulous.

Alex didn’t answer. He simply raised his arm, holding something out to the Farmer.

In his hand, he clutched a necklace with a pointed shell. Brilliant blue.


	2. Sing It From The Rooftops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Farmer and Alex deal with the aftermath of Alex's proposal. Haley plans a party.

Alex sat at the Farmer’s kitchen table, soaking wet and covered in a towel. He shivered. In his huge hands, he clutched a mug of hot tea. The amulet lay on the table in front of him.

“Absolutely _insane!”_ The Farmer paced back and forth, dragging a head through his short hair for the umpteenth time. “It’s crazy! You are _crazy.”_

“Dude, I’m just saying,” Alex interjected. The rain felt like it had soaked down to his bones. He shivered again, pulling the towel tighter around his shoulders. “Please. Let _me_ marry you.”

The Farmer paused in his pacing to stand motionless in front of the kitchen sink. He gripped the edge of the countertop and stared out the dark window. _Let me marry you._ The thought of his friend’s words sent a panicked jolt through his body.

Did Alex know he was...gay?

The Farmer turned to eye his friend warily. Alex was staring back at him with a determined expression fixed on his face. A tiny line had appeared between his brows, his strong jaw set. He searched Alex’s face for any sign that he might know the Farmer’s secret, finding nothing but Alex’s fierce resolve. They hadn’t gotten to the point in their friendship yet where he had felt comfortable breaching the subject with Alex; he hadn’t been sure how his athletic, sports-loving, straight-as-a-pin friend would react.

But now, said friend had shown up in the middle of the night in the rain, asking to marry him. The Farmer had no clue what to make of that. And frankly, it terrified him.

From under wet bangs that dripped frigid water down his nose, Alex watched as countless emotions washed over the Farmer’s face. Surprise, confusion, anger, suspicion. Then, solidly, fear.

Alex swallowed against a lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.  “Look,” he said, “We both know it wouldn’t be real. But Joja doesn’t know that.”

He waited for the Farmer to look convinced, but his expression didn’t change. The Farmer just stared at him with those wide, panicked eyes. Alex wracked his brain for something, anything, to justify what was coming out of his mouth. “I know it’s probably a little weird - us both being guys, and all,” he sputtered out. “But...um...wouldn’t it be better than leaving?”

The panic that was rising in the Farmer’s chest suddenly halted, dropping heavily into his belly to stir like something akin to….disappointment? He gave his head a shake in an attempt to brush the feeling off. Alex was his very straight friend; obviously the reason he was here, asking to marry him, was a scheme to help the Farmer with the exemption. Alex didn’t know he was gay. Alex was just being a good pal.

Alex watched the Farmer’s panic shift into something he couldn’t name. Still, however, his friend was quiet. Alex had grown to fear quietness; in his experience, silence was a warning that an explosion was coming. With every passing second that the Farmer didn’t speak, Alex grew more afraid. Was the Farmer was going to scream in his face, tell him to _get out_ , call him a _fag,_ just like his father used to?

Alex cleared his throat and tried to fill the silence, staring at his muddy shoes instead of at his friend’s face. “It’d be just like normal. We’d sleep in separate rooms, go about our days as usual. I’d still help on the farm like I do now. Only difference is that on paper, we’d be married. Which is the only part Joja cares about. The agreement you signed must expire at some point, so we can just get divorced then.”

A sudden creaking sound startled Alex out of his monologue. He looked up. The Farmer had taken a seat across the table from him. The man sighed, and scrubbed his face with both hands. He looked ten years older than he had this morning.

The Farmer looked at Alex, and then at the amulet on the table, feeling an ache deep in his chest as he did so. He knew what it was like to be openly gay in a less-than-accepting household. Even though Alex seemed big and strong, the Farmer wasn’t sure his friend had the thick skin to deal with that kind of treatment by his friends and family. Even though the scenario Alex was proposing would solve his problems, the Farmer still felt the obligation to give Alex every possible opportunity to rethink his offer.

It hurt, but the Farmer forced himself to speak.  “Alex, have you really thought about this?” he said, leaning towards his friend. “Marrying a guy? Are you prepared for how that’s going to change how people think about you?”

Alex stared at the floorboards and didn’t answer right away. The bad thoughts, his father’s voice, were creeping up on him and threatening to overcome him. Again, though, he thought about what he would do to keep his friend in his life. Before he lost his nerve, he looked up and met the Farmer’s gaze. “Yes. I’m sure. Marry me,” he said.

The Farmer hesitated.

“Please”, Alex added. He grabbed the amulet off of the table and stood. He walked around the spare chair and knelt in front of the Farmer.

The Farmer looked down at his friend. Alex was sopping wet and shivering, making a muddy mess on the kitchen floor, but his face was emblazoned with his signature look of determination. “You look like a drowned rat,” the Farmer said, with a hint of affection. He slowly took the amulet from Alex’s hand. “I accept.”  
  
  
  


It was bright and early the next day that Alex and the Farmer sat across the Mullners’ kitchen table from Evelyn and George. The morning sun filtered in through Evelyn’s lacy curtains, casting patterns of light onto the tablecloth that the Farmer pretended to be preoccupied by, trying to ignore the feeling of his own awkward hand being held firmly in Alex’s strong and confident grip.

“Marriage!” George exclaimed, incredulous. “I’ve never seen you two so much as exchange a ‘hullo’!”

“Oh, George!” Evelyn admonished. “Remember? Alex has been working at the farm since Spring. I’m sure they’ve had ample time to get to know one another.”

Even though the Farmer knew Evelyn’s words were entirely innocent, he couldn’t help but blush at the implication of her words. By now, the whole town must be gossiping about what had _really_ went on all those days that Alex was “helping” at the farm. He was certain they’d be disappointed to learn that it was more mud and chicken shit than sweeping romance.

“Besides,” she continued, looking fondly at the two of them. “It’s obvious these two are soulmates who have finally found each other. I’m so glad.”

Alex’s hand tightened on his own, though it seemed more like he was drawing courage than expressing any sort of affection. His friend squared his shoulders before speaking. “Grandma’s right,” he said. “The Farmer and I are in love, and we’re getting married. I hope you can make it to the ceremony this Sunday.” His voice was careful and guarded, like he had practised this line over and over.

George turned his scowl over to the Farmer. “You,” the old man said, chin pointing towards him. “How can I be sure you’re going to treat my boy right?”

Alex’s cheeks turned pink. “G-Grandpa!”

The Farmer looked George in the eye, contemplating his gruff exterior. Behind the aggressive glint in his eye was a flash of fear, an inner protectiveness and concern over Alex, who was his only grandson and his ward. “It’s ok, Alex,” the Farmer assured him. The Farmer decided to simply tell the truth. “Your grandson’s a great person, George,” he said, “I’d never do anything to hurt him. That’s a promise.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alex turn to look at him, but he couldn’t read his expression.

George seemed satisfied with that answer, sitting back in his wheelchair, scowl softening imperceptibly. “Well, alright then,” he said. “You have my blessing.”

After chatting about wedding details, and enjoying Evelyn’s brunch spread (Alex mostly), the pair had stood up to leave. They thanked Evelyn and George before stepping out into the hot summer day, Alex clutching the batch of cookies his grandma had sent along for them. The Farmer snuck glances at his friend as they walked back to the farm, noting Alex’s dreamy expression. He concluded that his husband-to-be must be fantasizing about the cake Evelyn had promised to bake them for the occasion.

For the pair, the next three days were an absolute blur. News of their engagement spread through the town like wildfire, leaving shocked townspeople in their wake.

On Friday afternoon, Haley marched up the Farmer’s lane in her floppy sunhat and huge shades, stopping in front of Alex and the Farmer as they sat on the porch. “Working hard, I see?” she said, cocking a hip.

Alex and the Farmer looked at each other, then back at Haley, regarding her warily. “We’re on break,” Alex supplied, taking a long sip of his lemonade.

“I can see that,” Haley sniffed.

The two men simply stared at her, sipping their lemonade. Haley’s sunglasses had the effect of obscuring her eyes, giving Alex and the Farmer a feeling like they were being interrogated by a cop.

She leaned in until she was an inch away from both of their faces. Her hat blocked out the sun. “Do you have anything you’d like to say for yourselves?!” she snapped.

Alex startled and nearly dropped his lemonade. The Farmer choked on his own drink, coughing and sputtering.

Haley leaned back to huff. She tossed her long, blonde hair behind her shoulder haughtily and reached into her purse, producing a colourful sheet of paper. She held the page between two long, manicured fingers. “Well, the next time you two decide to declare your love for each other and run off into the sunset in holy matrimony, I hope to Yoba I’m the FIRST to know. I had to hear it from Demetrius.” She pushed her sunglasses down her nose and levelled a glare at the both of them. “DEMETRIUS!”

Alex and the Farmer stared at her, frozen in fear.

Haley held out the coloured paper, offering it to them. “You’re lucky I have experience in planning parties on short notice.” She pushed her sunglasses back into place. “ _Very_ short notice,” she added.

The Farmer delicately took the paper from her, furrowing his brow as he read it over. Alex sipped his lemonade and peered over his shoulder.

An engagement party. Tonight. At the Saloon. And apparently, Haley had invited the entire town.

“A party?!” Alex exclaimed. He flashed a brilliant grin at Haley, who lowered her sunglasses to wink at him.

The Farmer was less than enthused. He grimaced. “Haley, there’s just so much to do here at the Farm, I don’t know if I can-”

Haley stuck out her tongue and cut him off with a vulgar noise. “Yeah, you’re clearly _swamped_ ,” she said. “Don’t be lame. It starts tonight at seven. You’re the main event, so I better see you both there.” She mimed a gesture that said _I’m watching you_ , and levelled it at both the Farmer and Alex.

She turned on her heel and strolled back towards town, hips sashaying, blonde hair cascading down her back from under her hat. She raised a hand to wave without turning around. “Goodbye, lovelies!” she called. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours!”


	3. A Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: alcohol consumption. Alex and the Farmer attend the Saloon party and get a little rowdy. Alex lets his competitive nature get the best of him.

A sliver of the hot summer sun was visible on the horizon, well on its way to hunkering down for a long night’s sleep. The faint sound of Dusty’s snoring reached the Farmer’s ears as he approached, joining with the evening song of keening cicadas and chickadee mothers calling their babies back to the nest. He rapped lightly on the wood of the Mullners’ front door.

Immediately the brass knob turned, as if someone inside had been waiting for the knock. The old door creaked on its hinges as it was pulled back.

Alex stood in the doorway. He was more dressed up than the Farmer had ever seen him, donning black jeans and a button-down tucked neatly into his waistband. The cotton fabric was stretched slightly over his friend’s broad shoulders, the top few buttons a smidge strained. Instead of his usual trainers, Alex wore a pair of shiny, dark brown shoes. His usual over-gelled hair was missing its signature crunchiness; instead, his brunette spikes were swept back into a clean, neat style. 

Alex cleared his throat. “H-hey, man,” he said. The skin above his collar was deeply flushed. 

The Farmer snapped his gaze away from his friend’s neck, mentally cursing himself.  _ Stop staring, idiot, it’s just Alex.  _ “I…” he began, not quite sure what to say. He’d never picked up a date before, if he was being honest, and this was the closest thing to it he’d ever experienced. “I’m ready if you are?” he decided on. He shot Alex a pained smile that said,  _ may as well get this over with. _ Alex smiled back, some of the anxiety washing away from his expression. 

“Alex!” George’s gruff voice called out. “You make a better door than a window! Your grandmother’s trying to greet your guest.”

Alex startled, stepping away from the open door in surprise. A tiny old woman appeared out from behind the burly athlete. “Oh!” Evelyn exclaimed, rushing over to the Farmer. She patted down a wrinkle in his shirt and adjusted the tie he wasn’t quite sure how to fashion. “My, my, you look so handsome, my dear!” she said. “Doesn’t he, Alex?”

“Uh...oh, um, yeah.” Alex’s voice was strangely high.

Evelyn’s eyes, deep-set and framed by crinkled skin, were sparkling like stars as she looked at the Farmer, who couldn’t help but smile affectionately down at her. “Thank you, Evelyn,” he said, feeling a genuine flush of his own creep up to his cheeks. He’d never been  _ doted on _ before. It was...really nice, actually.

Evelyn grasped both of his hands in her own. They were surprisingly soft, and her touch was tender. He was nervous for a moment that his calloused palms would be uncomfortable for her to hold. “It’s _Grandma_ now, my dear,” she told him. Her words were emphasized by a tight squeeze. 

The Farmer felt his throat tighten and his eyes prickle. Blinking profusely, he nodded and returned the squeeze before sliding his hands out of her grasp. He stood up straight and turn to his friend. “A-Alex, we really don’t want to be late!” he said. 

Alex nodded in agreement, giving his grandmother a light hug before she returned inside. “Have fun, boys!” she called. “Don’t stay out too late!” The door clicked closed, leaving Alex and the Farmer to stand alone in the twilight.

After a few seconds of mutual staring at the closed door, the Farmer worked up the courage to look at Alex’s face. His friend’s expression was somewhere between giddiness and absolute terror. The Farmer felt an odd flutter deep in his gut. He took a deep breath before speaking. “Uh...shall we?” he asked.

Alex snapped out of it, swallowing his panic and excitement and schooling his features into his usual smirk. “‘Course!” he said, voice full of its natural confidence. “They’re probably waiting for us.”

Alex was right. By the time they arrived the Saloon was already packed with every adult in town. When the Farmer first pushed open the doors, a female voice that might have been Marnie’s had risen above the din to chime out the words, “They’re  _ here!” _

A tidal wave of pats, hugs, handshakes, and back-slaps crashed down onto them with the combined force of every Stardew Valley villager, all concentrated onto the new couple. The Farmer felt himself be pushed through the crowd towards the bar, where he was suddenly eye-level with a pair of high heeled feet and slender, feminine legs. 

Haley leaned down to offer him a hand. She pulled him up onto the bar to stand beside her. As he tried to get his bearings, as well as catch his breath, Haley called out, “Where’s Alex?”

The crowd craned their necks, searching for the other groom. The Farmer spotted Robin, her red hair tied up in its usual bun, as she climbed onto a chair. Her face was furious as she pointed at the back of the Saloon.  _ “Sebastian!”  _ she shouted, in a tone that made every man in the Saloon stand up straight. _ “Sam!  _ Knock it off!”

The Farmer followed her gaze to the back of the room, where he caught a glimpse of Sam’s telltale blonde hair. He and Sebastian were attempting to toss Alex up into the air in something akin to birthday bumps. Alex was easily the largest of the three men, with at least three inches on both Sam and Seb, but that was hardly stopping them from grasping him by the ankles and wrists and flinging him around.

At the sound of his mother’s angry voice, Sebastian dropped Alex, mid-bump. Alex yelped as half of his body landed on the Saloon floor. “I thought this was a celebration?” Sebastian complained. Sam dropped the other half of Alex, nodding in indignant agreement.

“Stop acting like boneheads and help him up to the front!” Robin chastised. 

Sebastian and Sam grabbed Alex and practically frog-marched him to the bar. The Farmer was expecting to see his friend looking quite shaken up, but instead, Alex had the most shit-eating grin he’d ever seen plastered across his face. Of course, the Farmer had forgotten that roughhousing was Alex’s favourite pastime.

The Farmer was about to lend a hand to help Alex up, but before he could, his friend planted two hands on the surface of the bar and hoisted himself up with ease. The Farmer felt something uncurl in his stomach. Jealousy? He wasn’t sure. 

Haley surveyed the crowd, evidently pleased with herself. She skimmed a hand down her hot-pink dress before planting it on the curve of her hip. “Let’s give it up for our nearly-weds!” she called out. “Congrats to Alex and the Farmer on their engagement!”   
The crowd erupted in hoots and cheers, only quieting down when Haley held out a hand. She really could command a room, the Farmer noted. “Speaking of  _ nearly-weds,” _ she began. “I think we’re ready for our first game of the night! Are you all ready for the Nearly-wed Game?”

The crowd roared. Before the Farmer knew what was going on, he found himself in a chair next to Alex at the front of the room, the eyes of the entire village on them. Haley dragged a chair up beside the two of them, spinning it backwards and straddling the seat. “So Farmer,” she began. “While you were getting dressed up for tonight, I paid Alex a little visit at home and asked him a few questions about your life together.”

The Farmer shot Alex an incredulous look. Alex’s face grew beet red, and he looked away. 

“Your job, Mr. Farmer,” Haley continued, leaning in close, “is to guess what Alex—your _ loverboy _ —said!” Her blue eyes glowed with the sort of mischief that made the Farmer’s stomach twist in fear. “Warning to all: things could get spicy tonight.”

A series of hoots and whistles came from the crowd. 

“Are you ready to play?” she asked.

The Farmer nodded cautiously.

Haley produced a stack of cards from her purse. She flipped to the first one on the stack, clearing her throat and standing tall to address the crowd. “Let’s start with an easy one,” she said, giving him a wink. “What did Alex say was your worst habit? A – singing in the shower, B – leaving the house a mess, or C – your need to stop and dig anytime you think there might be buried treasure, no matter the time or the place?”

The Farmer bit back a grin. “I think the answer must be C, Haley,” he said.

“Correct!” Haley said. The crowd cheered, and the Farmer felt his nerves settle slightly. “Ok, next one. What is Alex’s favourite song? A – Paradise City by Slingshots N Tulips? B – Love is a Battlefield by Tat Penatar? Or C – Hotline Bling by Rake.”

The Farmer made a show of thinking it over. “Hmmm,” he said. “The guy who spends all day lifting and checking himself out? Who can’t find a shirt to save his life? Whose dance moves are considered a federal crime in at least three countries?” He looked over, and Alex was struggling to contain his guffaws, his eyes screwed shut, shoulders shaking. The Farmer grinned at him. “Definitely a huge Rake fan. C!”

“Ooooh,” Haley mock winced, clearly trying to contain her laughter as well. “Wrong answer, Farmer! We were looking for A!”

The Farmer stole another glance at Alex. For the first time since the game had started, his friend met his gaze, grinning at the Farmer with self-deprecating mirth dancing in his green eyes.

“One more question!” Haley announced. She turned to the Farmer, face entirely serious. “Farmer. We asked Alex: what is your most attractive feature?” she read out.

_ My...most attractive feature?  _ The Farmer’s heart began to pound. He looked again at Alex, who now was looking at the floor. He couldn’t see his friend’s expression.

“Did he say…A – Your hair? B – Your smile? Or C…” Haley sent a sultry look out to the audience. “Your ass?”

A loud wolf-whistle split the air. The Farmer looked around with wide eyes, spotting Marnie with her fingers against her lips as if she was calling one of her animals. He felt his face grow hot.

“I told you things could get spicy!” Haley said. “Farmer, what’s your answer?”

Wetting his dry lips, mouth suddenly feeling like a desert, the Farmer answered. “A?” It had to be A. Alex had an unhealthy preoccupation with all things hairstyle. The Farmer could count on one hand the number of mornings that he  _ hadn’t _ been made to feel Alex’s hair to assess if he had used too much gel.

Haley flipped the card over to read the answer, although the Farmer felt that she was doing it for effect. There was no way that Haley hadn’t burned every single one of these answers deep into her memory for future ammunition. “That is,” she paused, flashing the Farmer a grin, “not correct! Alex said that your most attractive feature was...B, your smile! How sweet is that? Can we get some applause for these adorable boys?”

As the audience cheered and applause echoed around them, the Farmer sat absolutely motionless. It felt as if his heart had cracked open and was leaking warmth throughout his body, roaring in his ears, pulsing in his chest, comforting and electric all at the same time. Every nerve in his body was alight in that moment, hyper-focused on the muscles that controlled the curve of his mouth. His smile. 

Alex...liked his smile. 

“Farmer!” Haley’s voice brought him back to reality. “Tsk-tsk. That’s only 1 out of 3 correct! Unfortunately, that means you have to pay the penalty!”

Before the Farmer could blink, Gus appeared by his side, thrusting a small glass of sharp-smelling liquid into his hand. The Farmer took a whiff, and nearly gagged.  _ Tequila. _ In his other hand, Gus placed a lime segment.

While this was going on, Alex had recovered enough from his embarrassment to raise his head. He looked at the shot glass in the Farmer’s hand with wide eyes, then back up at his face. In the time that he’d known the Farmer, the smaller guy had  _ never _ had a stomach for alcohol. He remembered the first time he and Haley had taken the Farmer out for drinks on a Friday night. One thing had let to another, and before they knew it, Haley had bought them a round of beer and had challenged the two of them to a chugging contest. 

“Drink up, boys!” Haley had taunted, before tipping the mug upside down and draining the beer. Alex and the Farmer had scrambled to keep up after her head start. After Haley, Alex had been the second to finish his beer, slamming the mug down on the table just in time to see the Farmer turn an intriguing shade of green. The Farmer had carefully set his beer down, unfinished, and practically sprinted for the door. Alex had been close on his heels. 

The Farmer had wobbled outside, landing on his knees in the grass, and emptied his stomach contents onto the Saloon’s front lawn. Alex had spent the next hour patting him on the back and keeping him company, while Haley had sat on the Saloon steps nursing her second beer.

Now, at their engagement party, Alex watched in horror as the Farmer was preparing to take his first tequila shot. He met Haley’s eyes, begging her to stop this madness, but she only winked. “C’mon, Farmer!” Haley shouted. “I believe in you! Farmer! Farmer! Farmer!”

The entire Saloon took up the chant. “Farmer! Farmer! Farmer!”

Alex watched the Farmer’s expression closely. He realized with a sickening feeling that  _ he knew that look. _ It was the look the Farmer got when a large boulder was blocking his path, or when an usually strong and fast fish was close to making a getaway with his rod.  _ That _ look.

The Farmer’s jaw flexed, and his eyes shone with fiery determination. In a flash, he raised the shot glass to his mouth and downed it, flicking his head back and swallowing the liquid. He bit down on the lime and sucked, face betraying nothing, not even the slightest hint of a wince. 

Alex suddenly felt that it was much too hot in the Saloon. 

As the crowd roared and clapped the Farmer repeatedly on the back, Haley again stood up on the bar to speak. “Next game!” she called out. “It’s time for...drumroll please!” Sam dutifully rapped his fingers against the bar. “‘Tie The Knot’”!

Alex and the Farmer soon found themselves seated opposite to one another at one of the bar’s tables. Each had two small bowls in front of them. One was empty, while the other was filled to the brim with juicy red cherries.

Haley sat at the table on the odd edge, like a referee. “The object of the game: to see who is the better kisser!” she announced to the crowd.

Both Alex’s and the Farmer’s heads snapped around to stare at her, wide-eyed. The villagers hooted and hollered.

Haley threw back her head and laughed. “And how are we testing that?” she said. “By having a little contest! Let’s see who can tie the most cherry-stem knots in three minutes. Begin!”

Alex purposefully waited an extra second for the Farmer to comprehend the instructions and begin before starting on his own cherries. As the Farmer’s cheeks shifted, his tongue confusedly tossing the stem around from left to right, Alex toyed with his own stem but didn’t tie it. With any luck, the Farmer would win this challenge. Alex certainly didn’t want to see the Farmer two-shots deep; his idea of a good time wasn’t scrubbing puke off of the Saloon floor, and he doubted it was anyone else’s either.

The problem? Alex was  _ really _ good at tying cherry-stem knots. There was something deeply satisfying about it; it was the perfect mix of flirtation and competition, sexiness and showing off. It took everything he had right then not to demonstrate the skilled things his tongue could do. He itched to curl it around the stem, twist it around, and spit the product of his efforts triumphantly onto the table for all to see. He itched to see the flush creep up the necks of onlookers and they thought about his...talents. 

He watched as the Farmer’s focus honed in, his movements becoming more deliberate, the muscles of his jaw working more smoothly as his tongue manipulated the stem. Alex swallowed thickly, his own stem caught between his teeth, as the Farmer’s tongue made a languid swipe across the inside of his cheek. The Farmer’s tongue lolled out, revealing a perfectly-tied stem. 

Something about seeing the knot, about the challenging look in the Farmer’s eye, set Alex off. He was here for an engagement party. People wanted a show. Fake marriage or not, he may as well play the part.

Alex gripped the edge of the table, hard, as he began tying the stem. He flicked the tip of his tongue around, pressing the stem against his teeth and crossing it over, before securing the loop and pulling. In a matter of seconds, he produced a knot rivalling the perfection of the Farmer’s. He winked as he pulled it from between his teeth. He took immense pleasure in watching the Farmer’s eyes widen. 

The crowd began to cheer. Some had taken the Farmer’s side, while others chanted “Alex! Alex! Alex!”. 

Hearing his name on their lips was like a shot of adrenaline, and Alex made swift work of another stem before Haley announced 30 seconds left on the clock. 

The Farmer stood, planting his hands on the table and leaning towards Alex. His gaze was locked with Alex’s, pupils blown, jaw working furiously as his tongue curled around inside his own mouth. Alex shot up as well. His chair was sent sliding backwards. He planted his hands on either side of the Farmer’s, bracketing him in a display of dominance.

“Ten seconds!” Haley shouted. Alex’s tongue danced around the stem, crossing it, looping it, and finally —

The Farmer surged forward, and planted his lips on Alex’s own. 

The jolt that ran through Alex’s body borderline stopped his heart. The world felt like a sudden vacuum; he could hear no sound, only his own blood rushing in his ears, a faint ringing echoing in his head like that time he’d cracked helmets with Jeff S. in gridball practice. The Farmer had moved, his lips had pressed to Alex’s, and in the next second they were gone. The moment was over so quickly Alex wondered if it had even happened at all. Alex was left to stand there, shell-shocked, with his untied stem still in his mouth. 

The Farmer slowly opened his own mouth. There, on his tongue, was a cherry-stem knot. 

The little  _ bastard _ .

“We have a tie!” Haley said, shouting to be heard over the eruption of cheers from the crowd. “A surprise, come-from-behind move from the Farmer to tie it up! Creative!” she exclaimed, glancing at Alex with a sidelong look that said,  _ still think you’re hot shit? _

Alex sat down heavily in his seat, still a little shaken from what had just occurred. The Farmer sat down triumphantly opposite him. The stupid grin on the Farmer’s face said it all: one shot of tequila was  _ a lot _ .

Alex startled as Gus slammed two mugs of beer down on the table, one in front of him, the other in front of the Farmer. “On the house! You’re both winners! Congratulations, boys,” Gus said, giving Alex a proud smile. 

He grabbed the mug in his hands without a second thought, welcoming the flow of smooth liquid courage down his throat. To get through the night, he was clearly going to need it. 


	4. It's Not You, It's Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misunderstandings and angst: our bread and butter. In my headcanon, Alex is a hugger.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Each knock at the Farmer’s front door felt like a stake being driven into his skull. The Farmer’s eyelid opened a crack, wincing as blinding white light streamed into his eyes. He groaned and stuffed his head back under his pillow.

The pressure in his head was so intense. It felt like his temples were locked in a vice and someone was mercilessly twisting the handle. His stomach lurched. _Yoba,_ he’d never felt this bad before.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

In a huff, the Farmer threw the pillow off of his head, not caring where it landed. He forced his eyes to open into narrow slits. He was at home, in his own bed. The room was bright from the late morning sun. It cast warm beams of light onto the planks of his wooden floor, illuminating his discarded clothes lying in a crumpled pile. He frowned. _What the shit happened last night?_

“Farmer!” a muffled voice called from the other side of the door. “Open up!”

The Farmer groaned, swinging his legs around to stand up, and immediately recoiled. His foot had touched something wet. He looked down. _Fuck._

“Uhh, just a second!” he called out, wincing at the rasp in his throat. Water. He needed water. Gingerly stepping around the evidence of his intoxication and trying to shake off the dizziness that swept over him, the Farmer threw on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and padded into the kitchen. He quickly poured himself a glass of tap water before cautiously approaching the door. Shielding his eyes from the onslaught of the summer sun, he answered it.

“Hey Farmer!” Emily greeted him.

 _Her hair is way too blue to look at right now,_ the Farmer thought. “Uh, hey Emily,” he said, trying to muster up a weak smile.

She grinned at him, but didn’t continue.

“Anything I can help you with?” he prodded.

For the first time, the Farmer noticed that she was carrying a huge duffel bag. “I thought you’d never ask!” she said. “Let’s get to work.”

“Get to work?” he repeated slowly.

“Well, yeah!”

Much to his surprise, Emily walked directly past him and into his kitchen. _Yoba_ , _what if she sees the mess I made?_ he thought frantically. He’d never live down the embarrassment. “Uhhh one sec Emily!” the Farmer stammered. “Have a seat at the table, I’ll be right back!” He scampered off to his room to deal with the disgusting puddle of vomit currently soaking into the floorboards.

When he returned, he couldn’t see his kitchen table anymore. Emily had completely covered it in various fabrics, pins, and sewing tools. She stepped back as if to admire her work, casting the Farmer a bright smile over her shoulder. “Are you ready?”

The Farmer wracked his foggy brain, feeling like his last functioning neurons were about to short-circuit. He gave her a sheepish, but apologetic look. “I’m...sorry, Emily,” he said, “but I really have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Her grin turned into a look of concern. “Farmer, don’t you remember? Last night, you said that you wanted me to make you a suit for the ceremony tomorrow!” she said.

A wave of dizziness rushed over him. “I...did?” he asked.

“Uh huh!” Emily said, turning back to the table, searching for something. She grabbed a roll of aquamarine fabric and held it up. “You told me that you loved the blouse I was wearing and asked if I could do a suit in the same fabric.”

The Farmer stared at the fabric in her hand. He had to admit, it was indeed a gorgeous colour. And the material looked breezy enough to be comfortable in the hot summer sun. He looked up to see Emily staring at him expectantly, a hopeful expression on her face.

With not one single memory from the night before floating around in his empty, aching head, the Farmer flashed her a smile. “Of course! Now I remember,” he lied. “Thanks Emily!”

Emily smiled back. “Fantastic! Now, if I could just get you to stand over here…”

As Emily measured his legs for the suit pants, her tongue poking out from between her teeth, the Farmer took out his phone to check his messages. Strangely, he had no notifications. Usually every morning he awoke to a text from Alex about the weather he had encountered on his daily dawn jog, and the Farmer had begun to rely on them more than the forecast channel.

But on this particular morning, his notification screen was empty. Frowning, the Farmer checked his signal. Everything seemed to be in order. So why hadn’t he heard from Alex? The Farmer tapped Alex’s name on his messages screen, pulling up their conversation. The last text had been from last night, when the Farmer had let Alex know he was on his way to pick him up for the party. Alex had replied with a dancing girl emoji.

“Hey Emily?” the Farmer asked.

Emily took her tape measure out from between her teeth, looking up at the Farmer from where she was crouched as his feet. “Yes?”

“Have you seen Alex at all today?”

Emily’s brow furrowed as she thought about his question. “Hmmm...don’t think so!” she answered, wrapping the tape measure around his left calf. “Why, is everything ok?”

The Farmer nodded. “No, everything’s great! Thanks,” he said. He refreshed his and Alex’s conversation screen again. Nothing. His thumb hovered over the keyboard as he thought about what he was going to say.

 _Hey man,_ he began. _How’s your head this morning? Mine’s awful._ He tapped send, and set his phone down on the table.

Nearly an hour ticked by with Emily carefully measuring his body parts for the suit and the Farmer anxiously watching his phone, waiting for the screen to light up with Alex’s name. Nothing happened. No buzzing, no flashing light, no envelope icon with the picture of Alex and that stupid dog filter on his face. Nothing.

“Well, that about wraps it up!” Emily said happily. She packed up her equipment, dropping her tape measure back into the duffle bag and making a dusting motion with her hands. “I’ll be by tomorrow morning before the ceremony to help you try it on, and the make any last adjustments.”

The Farmer waved goodbye as she left, barely registering her goodbye. What the fuck was up with Alex? Why hadn’t he heard from him? Was he ok?

He took out his phone and refreshed the conversation yet again. Still, no response from his friend. _Hey._ He typed. Erased it. Typed it again, this time with a lowercase “h”. More casual, he thought.

_hey._

The Farmer clicked send. He triple checked that the message showed up with a checkmark and the tiny word “delivered”. He purposefully thrust his phone deep into his pocket, willing his brain to stop focusing on Alex for a second and instead think about all he needed to get done that day.

As the Farmer fed and pet his chickens, watered his crops, and took the fresh milk to the shed to be processed, he couldn’t shake the sick feeling in his stomach. _It’s just the hangover,_ he thought, shaking his head to clear it. Holding his liquor was never his strong suit, after all, and now he was just paying the price.

When he was finished with his chores, the Farmer stopped for a break. He was hyper aware of his phone in his pocket. It felt white-hot, as if it might burn a hole through his shorts. Mentally cursing himself for his weakness, he pulled out his phone yet again. The light blinked, and his heart leapt up into his throat. He opened the lock screen, eager to finally hear from his friend.

_SALE on melon seeds at Pierre’s! This is a Pierre’s General Store update. Text STOP to stop receiving updates from Pierre._

His hopes sank. In his gut, the nauseous feeling had become a heavy pit that seemed to weigh his entire body down. For the umpteenth time that day, the Farmer opened his conversation window with Alex.

A jolt of hurt seared through his belly. All of his messages were marked with two check marks. Read. He refreshed the screen, dismayed to see that Alex had been active three minutes ago. All of his theories, like the one about how Alex was too busy with wedding preparations to be checking his phone, went out the window.

Alex was _ignoring_ him.

His nausea back in full force, the Farmer stepped out of the shed to get some much-needed oxygen. Once outside, he looked up at the darkening sky. Charcoal-gray clouds had began to roll in from the eastern horizon, bringing with them some much needed rain for the soil that had become parched in the summer heat.

Blue’s ears pricked up from where he was curled up on the front porch. The dog whined as the Farmer approached; he could always hear the thunder before it arrived, and it seemed to make him nervous. The Farmer patted him before heading into the house. “It’s ok, boy,” he said, scratching the dog’s floppy ears. “Nothing to worry about.”

He wished he could tell himself the same thing and believe it.  
  
  
  
  


Alex sat on top of his bed, back against the frame, staring at the closet.

His tuxedo hung in a clear bag from the top of the door. It was a deep green, almost black color. He had worn it for his high school graduation. Grandma had offered to buy him a new one for the wedding, but he’d declined.

“Oh, Alex, don’t you want to look your best for your big day?” she had said, pulling him down to her height so she could plant a kiss on his forehead.

“My old tux is fine, Grandma, really,” he’d told her. Her kiss had left a warm spot on his skin. “I don’t want you and Grandpa to spend your savings. You need that money.”

Evelyn had waved that notion off. “Nonsense, sweetheart, this is your special day!” she had said.

Alex had taken her small hands to hold in his own, looking at her with as much gratitude as he could muster. “I really appreciate it Grandma, but it’s going to be just a simple ceremony. I don’t need a new tux. Honest,” he had said.

In reality, the tux was too tight in the shoulders, and the pants pulled uncomfortably as they stretched around his quads. High school had been five years ago, and he’d definitely bulked up since then. He’d secretly had Haley give it to her sister to let out. Emily had made the changes in record time, dropping it off while Evelyn was out tending to the town flower beds.

Now, staring at the damn thing as it hung on his closet door, Alex couldn’t ignore the guilt bubbling up in his throat. He had told his Grandma that he didn’t want her to spend their savings. That much was true. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the whole story. The problem was, he couldn’t bring himself to say the real reason out loud. Shame burned at his cheeks.

He was deceiving everyone. His grandparents. Haley. The people in town. Everyone. How could he ask his grandmother to exhaust her savings, however meagre, going all-out on a wedding that he knew was a total and complete _sham?_

Alex held his head in his hands as he imagined his eventual divorce from the Farmer. Everyone would be so sad for him. They would offer their sympathies, their kind words, their shoulder to cry on. Haley would comfort him with all his favourite breakfast foods, made just the way he liked them. His Grandpa would probably get out the bat, his prized Whooeyville Slugger, and wheel his way to the Farmer’s house for the beatdown of the century. His Grandma, she would hold him. And she would tell him everything was going to be alright.

A memory fluttered into his mind. He was about ten years old, and it was his grandparents’ anniversary. Alex had watched from the kitchen table as his Grandpa presented his wife with a bouquet of roses. He recalled his Grandpa’s demeanor in particular; the man was usually rough, but that night he had softened into something that was almost...tender. Alex had watched the two of them exchange quiet, warm words to one another, watched Evelyn stroke her husband’s cheek, and was overcome with the kind of emotion that made his eyes ache and his throat clench in a desperate attempt to hold back a tidal wave of tears.

After dinner that night, Evelyn had knocked softly on his door as he lay under the covers, sobbing. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she whispered, pulling back his sheets to reveal his face, red and streaked with tears.

“I...I don’t know,” he had said. And it was the truth. At ten years old, he didn’t know why seeing his grandparents express their love for each other made him feel so profoundly _lost._

Evelyn had stroked his hair. For a while, she said nothing, only comforting him with her loving touch. When he had finally calmed down, and the last tear had rolled down his cheek, she spoke. “You know, my dear,” she began. “One day, you will find someone who makes you as happy as your Grandpa makes me.”

Alex had looked up at her, his teary eyes filled with hope, fear, and questioning.

“And that person?” she continued. “They will love you deeply, for the special young man that you are.” Evelyn’s fingers had rested on his chest, directly over his heart. “And everything will feel whole again.” She had kissed him then, on his forehead.

As Evelyn had stood in the doorway, about to leave, she had turned back to her grandson once more. “I truly cannot wait to meet your person, Alex,” she said, her voice brimming with warmth.

Sitting in bed, a man on the eve of his false wedding, Alex squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of tears. He felt one escape and slide down the bridge of his nose. It dripped onto his palm and rolled away. Yoba, he had tricked his Grandma into believing the Farmer was _his person._ He recalled the look in her eyes the previous evening as she had held the Farmer’s hands; she had been positively glowing. Finally, she must have thought, her grandson had found someone who could make his world whole again.

A silent sob wracked Alex’s body. He was a _worthless. Fucking. Fraud._

At the same moment, a soft knock came from the door.

Alex froze. He frantically rubbed the tears from his eyes, grabbing the sports mag from his nightstand in an attempt to hide his face. He swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking. “C-come in!” he said. He couldn’t conceal the hoarseness of his voice.

The door opened slowly. Someone shuffled inside, steps light and unsure. “Hey, Alex,” the visitor said. The door clicked closed behind them.

Alex stiffened. It was the Farmer.

Alex blinked profusely from behind the open mag, trying to banish the wetness from his eyes without being too obvious about it. “Hey,” Alex greeted him. He tried to sound nonchalant, wincing as just he came across as flat.

The Farmer cleared his throat. “I...I was hoping we could, you know, talk,” he said.

Alex couldn’t help but tense up. He really didn’t want the Farmer to see him like this. After all, this stupid wedding had been Alex’s idea in the first place, and now here he was crying about it.

He heard the Farmer sigh dejectedly. “I’ll come right out and say it,” he said. “I fucked up.”

 _Wait._ The Farmer was...apologizing? Alex peered suspiciously out from over the top of his magazine.

The Farmer was standing in the middle of his room, staring awkwardly at his own feet. He didn’t meet Alex’s gaze. “I got worried when I didn’t hear from you today. I couldn’t remember anything from last night, so I texted Haley to see if she knew what was up. She didn’t know, but, well,” the Farmer stopped to take a deep breath. “She did...send me some pics. From the party.”

Oh. The party. In an instant, Alex’s mind was filled with images of the Farmer, hands planted on the bar table, staring him down as their tongues danced around cherry stems. The air had been so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Feeling a flush creep up his neck, he remembered the burning heat of the Farmer’s peck on the lips. There and gone, but enough to throw Alex completely off his game. Then, a bright flash of...something. _Fuck_ , Alex thought, groaning internally. He swore to Yoba that he’d throw Haley’s camera off the pier the next time he saw her.

Alex couldn’t see the Farmer’s face, but his ears were red when he spoke. “I-I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable, dude,” the Farmer stammered. “I should definitely never drink tequila. I totally get it if you’re mad, and I won’t _ever_ do that again, I just—”

Alex dropped the magazine on the floor, and stood.

The Farmer heard the creak of Alex’s bed as his friend got to his feet. He didn’t dare look up. He was terrified about what he might find in Alex’s face. Disgust? Hatred? The Farmer didn’t know if he could bear see that. Alex’s bare feet padded across the floor and into the Farmer’s field of vision. The Farmer braced himself.

To the Farmer's surprise, Alex didn’t yell or scream. He didn’t punch the Farmer in the gut, or tell him to get the fuck out of his room. Instead, Alex just let out an exhausted sigh.

“Man, honestly, I just really need a hug right now,” Alex admitted.

The Farmer was stunned into silence. He really hadn’t thought Alex would want to be around him at all, let alone touch him, after what he’d gone and done last night. But here he was, asking for a hug. He looked up at Alex, wide-eyed.

To the Farmer, Alex’s face looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were red, the Farmer assumed from lack of rest, or perhaps the hangover, or maybe even both. One thing was clear, though: Alex was right. He really did look like he needed a hug.

The Farmer extended his arms, and Alex enveloped him in a bear hug like they had done a hundred times before. Alex let his anxieties be swept away, relaxing into the embrace until he felt light inside. Wrapped up like this, he was relieved to discover that could forget what a terrible person he was, if even for a moment.

He didn’t know how he was going to get through tomorrow.


	5. What's Eating Alex Mullner?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding Day. Alex leaned heavily into his fear last chapter, and this chapter, he overcorrects. Alex throws himself into his role as husband-to-be with undue intensity, tipping off the Farmer that something is wrong. There’s something eating Alex, and the Farmer wants to know what.

As The Farmer stood in the town square, marvelling at the absolutely perfect summer day, he remembered his mother’s words: “The weather on your wedding day is a sign,” she had said. “Rain spells bad times ahead. Clouds, be ready for hard work. But sunshine?” She smiled. “Yoba reserves sunshine for two people who are destined for happiness together.”

The Farmer looked up at the clear, cloudless sky. For the past three days he’d been mentally preparing himself for the relentless heat and humidity that had bogged down the valley since mid-spring, certain that he would be spending the day sweating like a pig in his tuxedo. He had carefully checked the weather report for signs of oncoming rain; he’d even gone so far as to make sure that Robin had installed a tented roof on the wedding cabana she had built for their ceremony.

The Farmer squinted to peer along the horizon in search of clouds. Not a single one dared break up the huge expanse of cerulean sky, just a shade of blue darker than his suit.  _ Mom was wrong _ , he thought, chuckling darkly under his breath.  _ Yoba sends sunshine to liars, too. _

“When the Farmer first arrived in Pelican Town,” Mayor Lewis began. “No one knew if he’d fit in with our community.”

His words pulled the Farmer back into the here-and-now. With the quiet warmth of the morning sun peeking through the cabana, he scanned the faces of the crowd, feeling a shy sort of joy creep into his heart as he took in their excited expressions. 

Jas and Vincent were front and centre donned in their best Sunday outfits. The two children looked more attentive than any other kids the Farmer had ever seen at a wedding; he distinctly remembered himself at that age being forced to attend his cousin’s wedding, and being more interested in making fart noises than watching the ceremony.  _ No better etiquette teacher than Penny, I suppose _ , the Farmer mused. He noticed her sitting between the two children, her blouse and skirt exchanged for a lovely blue dress that matched the flowers lining the aisle. Her red hair was swept up into a smart, yet feminine bun. When she met the Farmer’s gaze, she offered him an encouraging smile. 

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and smiled back. He looked around once more, noting Marnie’s lovedrunk—or maybe just regular drunk—grin, her eyes glazed over. Though, following her line of sight, the Farmer wasn’t sure if she was looking at himself and Alex, or at Mayor Lewis.

“But from this day forward,” Lewis continued, “he’s going to be as much a part of this community as any of us!”

Inexplicably, Lewis’s words tugged at something deep within the Farmer. A part of Pelican Town, truly. He remembered what it was like living in Zuzu City; the place was cold, and not only because the towering skyscrapers seemed to block out the sun, plunging everything into perpetual dusk. It was a place lacking in human connection. Someone could bump into you on the street and not even look up from their phone, or nearly run you over with their car and not offer up so much as an apology. 

Pelican Town could not have been more the opposite. With a fond smile, the Farmer remembered the time that Maru had crashed into him on his way back from the mines. She’d been carrying some new device she’d created, and when she’d run into him at full speed, the thing had zapped him with a jolt of electricity. As he lay in the dirt, stunned, Maru had tossed the device to the side and hurriedly helped him up. “Farmer! I’m so sorry!” she had said, examining him for injuries. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, really,” the Farmer had assured her, even though his stomach still smarted from where the device had shocked him. He remembered looking down, wincing when he saw the thing smashed to pieces on the path beside them where Maru had thrown it. “But, Maru, your invention,” he’d said. “It’s broken!”

Maru had looked down at it, then back at the Farmer. She had smiled at him and waved a hand. “My fault. No big deal,” she’d said. “I’ll make another one. I’m just glad you’re ok!”

Smiling at the memory, the Farmer searched the crowd for Maru. He almost didn’t recognize her without her glasses. She looked beautiful, with flowers in her hair and a hint of eyeshadow dusting her lids. Maru flashed him a thumbs up, sending him a grin that was highly contagious. Until now, the Farmer hadn’t realized how much this community meant to him, and how badly he wanted to be a part of it, permanently. The farm was his pride and joy, and the natural world in valley itself was a breathtaking reprieve from the soul-sucking urban jungle, but the  _ people _ . They were what the Farmer loved most of all about his new life.

He turned back to Lewis. The mayor gave him an affectionate look, eyes crinkling at the corners like an old man looking at his grandchild, as if he knew exactly what the Farmer was thinking. All at once, the Farmer’s throat felt tight and his eyes felt prickly and his lip wobbled and  _ oh Yoba he was NOT going to cry _ .

“It is my great honour, on this 8th of Summer, to unite the Farmer and Alex in the bonds of marriage,” Mayor Lewis said. As per tradition, he stepped back, giving the Farmer an unobscured view of his friend-turned-husband-to-be for the very first time that day.

The Farmer’s heart stuttered against his will. 

Alex stood tall in his deep emerald suit, feet set confidently apart, broad shoulders squared. His chest narrowed towards his cinched waist in that V-shaped way that revealed his dedicated training regimen, his cummerbund accentuating the tight abs that were just barely hidden behind his white dress shirt. His brown hair was gelled, betrayed by not a single uncooperative strand, perfectly styled like he had a GQ photoshoot he needed to get to after the ceremony. When Alex met the Farmer’s gaze, it felt absolutely — alarmingly — electric. Alex’s eyes were very much too green. A huge, self-assured smile graced his friend’s face, drawing the eye to the light pink glow sitting high on his angular cheekbones.

As the Farmer stared, willing his mouth not to hang embarrassingly agape, he could not help but note in the most platonic way possible that Alex was looking _incredibly, ridiculously,_ _freaking handsome._

Lewis cleared his throat. “As the mayor of Pelican Town, and regional bearer of the matrimonial seal, I now pronounce you husband...and, well, husband! You may kiss!”

When Alex took a bold step towards the Farmer, it felt like the world shifted. Things began to fall away all around him. The sun, the crowd, the flowers. Mayor Lewis. The cabana. Alex closed the space between them like the sealing of an envelope, trapping them both inside and everything else out.

Alex’s confidence was silky smooth and cut with an intensity that startled the Farmer. He stood paralyzed as he felt Alex’s hand slide around the small of his back and pull him forward. For a tiny sliver of time, so small that it passed by almost unacknowledged by the universe, Alex lowered his soft lips to the Farmer’s own, and kissed him hard. 

The Farmer blinked, and in the next instant Alex was facing the crowd and smiling, holding their joined hands up high like champions. With a  _ boom,  _ confetti rained down upon the square, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

His lips buzzed like a fizzy soda, but his stomach swam with unease. 

  
  
  
  


“To Alex and the Farmer!” 

The dinner guests raised and clinked their champagne glasses together. “To Alex and the Farmer!”

The Farmer and Alex were seated at the head table, gazing out over the several other tables that seated the villagers of Pelican Town. The night air was warmer than usual, heated by merry voices and bright smiles and an endless flow of drink. Their dinner area and dance floor was lit by thousands of garden lights. Those tiny orbs illuminated the beach and glowed golden like the light from a cozy summer bonfire.

The Farmer inhaled, and exhaled. He welcomed the salty scent of the ocean breeze and the soft lapping sound of each swell as it broke quietly against the shore. Under the table, he dug his feet into the sand; a personal request from both him and Alex had ensured there was no temporary floor, only the beach, their favourite place in the valley.

He hummed happily. It was…

The Farmer tried to find an adjective that didn’t sound as dumb and cliche as  _ perfect.  _ It was pleasant. Well-executed. Befitting the two of them. 

Gus carefully set down two plates in front of the Farmer and Alex. In the center of each plate was the biggest, juiciest steak the Farmer had seen in his entire life. His eyes widened. Nope,  _ perfect  _ was the right word.

Gus winked. “Bon appétit,” he said. “My special peppercorn mushroom sauce. Your favourite, I’m told.”

“Thank-you, Gus,” the Farmer said, grinning.

The Farmer sat nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with Alex at the table. Alex’s shoulders were much broader than the average person’s, meaning his friend couldn’t so much as breathe without pressing up against the Farmer. Even through two layers of clothing, his own and Alex’s, the Farmer could feel the blistering heat emanating off of his friend. He steadied himself as Alex dug into the steak with gusto, jostling the Farmer as he ate. The Farmer smiled to himself, and joined him.

Once every belly in sight was full to the brim with food and drink, a few tables away from them Marnie stood up. She wobbled slightly before catching herself on the table. She straightened, and plucked up her glass to hold it triumphantly in the air. “I think,” she announced, appearing to sway slightly. “That we need to make things more…*hic*... _ interesting!” _

Her entire table, made up of Lewis, Robin, and Demetrius, grabbed their own glasses and began to hoot.  _ I guess the ale is flowing at table three,  _ the Farmer thought with a chuckle.

Marnie fumbled for her fork, missing it on the first attempt, but successfully grabbing it on the second. She held it up like a baton. “Here’s the game. When someone does  _ this,”  _ she slurred, and rapped on the side of her glass with her fork. The ringing sound carried brightly through the night air. “The new couple has to  _ kiss!” _ Hoots and cheers broke out all around her.

“Not much of a game,” the Farmer pointed out, but the crowd was too riled up to hear. Marnie laughed as she rapped her glass. It was soon joined by a symphony of ringing from across the beach as all eyes turned to the Farmer and Alex. 

Alex turned to look at the Farmer. There was a glint in his eye that made the Farmer uneasy, like a rabbit certain he was being watched by a fox. The Farmer barely had a second to suck in a breath before Alex descended on him. His thick fingers threaded into the back of the Farmer’s hair, tilting his head back, making the Farmer gasp. Alex’s lips pressed deeply into his own parted ones. The Farmer felt their teeth lightly clack together for a moment before the heat of Alex was gone, leaving the Farmer red-faced and wide-eyed.

The crowd burst into cheers and whistles.

As Alex beamed, grinning out towards the tables, the Farmer peered at him suspiciously. All of this rough touching, the bravado, the smirking...Alex was acting  _ strange. _

With a small flash of distaste flickering in his gut, the Farmer realized where he recognized this version of his friend. When the Farmer had first moved to Pelican Town, Alex had been one of the first people he had met. At the time, however, he’d hadn’t thought of that as much of a privilege; it had seemed to him that the jock was cocky, self-important and vain, with an ego that rivaled the size of the moon.

Alex had introduced himself to the Farmer with an ill-timed, “Go long!” and a gridball tossed directly between the Farmer’s eyes. It had connected with a painful  _ THWAP,  _ and bounced off.

He had dropped his armful of mussels to clutch at his forehead, doubling over. “Ah! What the hell?” he’d shouted.

Alex had come jogging over, not to help the Farmer, but to pick up his gridball. He barked out a laugh as he spun the ball in his hands. “Hah! Sorry. I forget sometimes that not everyone’s as good as me,” he said. “I’m Alex, by the way.”

The Farmer had pulled his head out of his hands to glare at him. “Hi,” the Farmer said flatly, between gritted teeth.  _ “Such _ a pleasure.”

“Haha, I know,” Alex said, watching his ball spin as if he hadn’t been listening to a word the Farmer said. “You must be the new farm boy.”

“Yep,” the Farmer muttered as he got to his feet. He began to dust the dirt off of his jeans, grumbling at the stinging pain between his eyes. The Farmer watched Alex spin his ball, up and down, up and down. The man stood with his chest puffed, a self-assured smirk on his face as he intentionally flexed his biceps.  _ He’d be right at home on the cover of Asshole Jock Weekly,  _ the Farmer remembered thinking.

A firm clap on the shoulder from Alex had made the Farmer see red. “Well, later, dude!” Alex had said, arrogance seeming to roll off of him in waves. “I’m late to catch the chicks in their bikinis down at the beach!” He had trotted off then, leaving the Farmer to seethe while he picked up his scattered mussels. 

It was probably one of the worst first impressions of all time. But, after months of getting to know Alex, the Farmer’s contempt had slowly shifted into tolerance, and finally, into friendship. Spending time with Alex and getting to know his story completely changed the way the Farmer looked at his athletic friend; certainly, he had misjudged him, but that wasn’t entirely it. No, Alex had changed, too. 

His cocky smirk had slowly been replaced by a genuine smile. Every time the Farmer watched his friend’s lips curl up in happiness, it felt like he was watching a signal being beamed out to the world that betrayed Alex’s innermost desire for companionship. He slowly stopped self-congratulating himself in every interaction, instead allowing his true personality to shine through the cracks of his arrogant mask. 

The Farmer learned that the real Alex was kind, loyal, and passionate. When Alex joined him as a farmhand, the Farmer was surprised to find that Alex never questioned any task given to him, no matter how difficult or boring. He would sometimes catch Alex sneaking Blue pieces of his lunch and hear him have entire conversations with the canine as he worked. Late at night back at the Mullners’ home, he would watch Alex dutifully perform his insane workouts, and often remarked to himself that he had never met someone with such iron discipline in pursuit of his long-term goals. 

He also learned that the real Alex suffered from crippling self-doubt at times. In the safety of Alex’s bedroom, he recalled the first time his friend had confided in him that he was dyslexic. He hadn’t said it in so many words; rather, he had sat with the Farmer and described the fear he felt when he thought about reading. The Farmer had understood completely, without Alex needing to explain. The Farmer recalled the look of complete relief on Alex’s face after getting that off of his chest.  _ That _ was why they worked so well together, the Farmer knew.

The last thing the Farmer learned about Alex, something which put everything into perspective, came one day at the beach. The Farmer had swung by hoping to check his crab pots, and instead had spotted his friend curled up facing the sea. He remembered seeing Alex sitting there and feeling his stomach bottom out. Was he hurt?

The Farmer had broken out into a run in a rush to get to Alex. As he approached, however, his paced slowed to a near-stop. The soft, heart-wrenching sounds of quiet sobs reached his ears, alongside a sound he could not name. It almost sounded like...music?

The Farmer had slowly walked up to Alex, palms outstretched, the same way he would approach a skittish animal. The strange music stopped. “Hey, Alex,” he called out softly. “It’s me. Are you ok?”

He had watched as Alex stiffened. His friend rapidly tried to wipe his face as the Farmer approached. He turned his head to look at the Farmer. “Oh,” Alex said, his voice thick and choked. “You...you saw me crying.”

The Farmer had felt his own throat grow tight. He opted to simply nod, and took a seat in the sand beside his friend. 

“It was today, twelve years ago,” Alex had cleared his throat, “that my mom died.” As the Farmer listened, Alex recounted his fondest memories of his mother. Salted radish sandwiches. Gridball in the backyard. “This is the only keepsake I have left,” Alex said, unfolding his hands to reveal a small box. He must have hidden it when he heard the Farmer approach. “It’s her secret music box.”

Alex had opened the lid to reveal a photo of himself as a tiny baby, and a woman who shared Alex’s brown hair and kind, emerald eyes. The box began to chime out a tune, which the Farmer recognized as the strange music he had heard when he approached. Alex watched the music box, and the Farmer watched Alex. A huge tear escaped to roll down his friend’s cheek and drip onto the sand.

The pair had sat on the beach for Yoba knows how long, neither saying a word, just staring off into the ocean and taking in the breeze. 

The Farmer had just been about to speak up, to let Alex know the he would always be there for him, to make sure he would never be lonely, when the sounds of people approaching reached his ears. He turned, and spotted Sam, Sebastian, and Abby walking along the shore towards them.

Alex had sniffed, and wiped the last of his tears from his eyes before standing. The Farmer watched as he schooled the vulnerability from his face, instead replacing it with a cocky smirk.

“Yo, Alex!” Sam had shouted. “We wanna have a gridball game. You in?” The Farmer saw Abby toss the ball in the air and catch it. 

“Hah!” Alex laughed derisively. “I’ll wipe the floor with all three of you.”

Watching this unfold, the Farmer had felt almost nauseated. That...wasn’t the Alex he’d grown to be so fond of. That wasn’t even the Alex he’d sat beside a moment ago. As he saw Alex run to catch the ball that Abigail had thrown, bragging about his athleticism, the Farmer had felt a prickle of embarrassment and discomfort, as if had accidentally caught his friend in the nude. It felt just as intrusive to truly  _ see _ Alex with the absolute clarity that he felt in that moment.  _ It’s an act,  _ he remembered realizing _.  _ That whole bravado thing was a defense mechanism, a shield Alex used to protect himself in his most vulnerable moments. Underneath that cocksure exterior was a scared little boy who needed a friend. Someone who would never abandon him. Someone who could reassure him of his worth and help make his world feel whole again. 

Back in the present, the Farmer watched in agitation as Alex turned his cocky smirk on their dinner guests, flashing a mask of arrogance that the Farmer hadn’t expected to see resurface on their wedding day. The Farmer bit the inside of his cheek in trepidation as alarm bells and red flags sounded off inside his head. 

Alex rose from his seat. “I’m grabbing a beer, dude.” Alex threw the words back over his shoulder. “I’m such a heavyweight, it’ll take a lot to get me drunk tonight.”

The Farmer stood to follow, determination and concern swelling in his chest as he watched his friend swagger over to the makeshift bar.  Something _serious_ was going on  with Alex, and he was going to find out what.


	6. For Better, For Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Farmer confronts Alex, but not before the couple can have their first dance.

The Farmer stepped with purpose across the beach towards Alex, trying to ignore how difficult it was to walk with purpose when your feet kept sinking into the loose sand.

Alex was bent over the bar, rummaging around in the icebox behind the counter, presumably for a bottle of beer. He’d ditched his suit jacket—it hung haphazardly from the back of his chair back at the table—and was now clad only in his white button-up and jade bowtie.

His tanned forearms were exposed to the night air as he dug around; the Farmer had tried not to stare as his friend had rolled up his sleeves to the elbows during cocktail hour. As the Farmer approached, he firmly reminded himself yet again to control his eyeballs. Farmwork really was a boon in the forearm department, he concluded, based on the evidence at hand. But that was entirely outside of the scope of his current mission.

The Farmer closed the distance between himself and his friend’s back. He reached out and gripped Alex by the shoulder, mustering the impressive strength required to spin the larger man around to face him.

“Wha—Farmer?” Alex asked, his green eyes lit with a mix of surprise and confusion, and maybe a little annoyance.

“Alex, can we find somewhere to talk? I’m worri—” he started, but was abruptly cut off by the sound of a microphone crackling to life.

The speaker next to the bar popped as a finger tapped the mic. Both Alex and Farmer’s necks snapped around, searching for the source. Both of their gazes landed squarely on Haley.

She stood, microphone in hand, in front of the head table. Someone had lit a lantern which sat nestled in the sand by her feet, drawing the eye to Haley’s glittering pink cocktail dress. She pursed her lips like she held a tantalizing secret. “I hope you all are having an _amazing_ time tonight!” Haley said, her cotton candy voice wafting out of the speakers.

“You know it!” a woman’s voice called out, gritty and low. The Farmer recognized it to be Pam’s; the older woman was sitting at a table with her daughter and Gus looking...well, how Pam usually looked around this time of night. Penny blushed uncomfortably as Gus and Pam knocked their mugs together, Pam downing her drink completely.

“Glad to hear that,” Haley said with a laugh. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and shot a side glance at the Farmer, her blue eyes probing. He had to stop himself from breaking eye contact. Something about the way Haley looked at him always felt like she was peering into his brain and reading his every thought.

He swallowed, pretending a wave of relief didn’t crash over him when her gaze flicked back to the dinner guests.

“I know I speak for everyone when I say I’m _beyond_ excited for this happy couple,” Haley said. “But you know what I’m even more excited for?”

The Farmer braced himself.

“Their first dance!” Haley practically squealed, before being drowned out by cheers.

Before either the Farmer or Alex had time to react, Haley’s voice over the speakers was drowned out by the opening notes of a song. A piano riff, to be exact. A piano riff of a very cliche, very overused, very _lovey-dovey_ wedding song, to be even more exact.

“Go on!” said Robin. The Farmer startled; he hadn’t even heard her approach. She shoved the two of them together and pushed them with remarkable strength towards the open area designated as the dance floor.

The dance floor was outlined with hundreds of tiny lanterns that cast a golden glow over the beach, like tiny yellow midnight jellies swimming in the sand. Piano notes floated along through the night air, soon joined by hundreds of other instruments the Farmer could not name. The sound seemed to follow the path of the wind as it swirled around them, caressing their skin with light and warmth.

The Farmer looked around nervously, hoping to focus his gaze on anything but Alex’s face; dancing in public was certainly not his forte, and the thought of pressing up against his friend and swaying to the soft notes of a love song was making him lightheaded. He preoccupied himself with the spot on the water that reflected the moon as the music grew increasingly louder.

In a sudden movement that nearly wrenched an embarrassing gasp from the Farmer’s throat, Alex gripped the Farmer’s hip and pulled him close. Alex held out his other hand expectantly.

The Farmer’s surprised stare met Alex’s bold green gaze. His friend’s face was schooled into a semi-determined mask. Semi, because fear was written there so close to the surface that one could barely register the determination.

The Farmer felt an unknown force draw his body even nearer to Alex’s. It felt as if he was strung along on a thread, looping and stitching him into the fabric of the other man. _We’re really doing this,_ he thought, trying to ignore the roar of blood pulsing in his ears. The Farmer slid his hand into Alex’s, took a deep breath, and felt a knot be pulled tight.

“Just follow my lead,” Alex murmured into his ear. His words were brave, but his voice shook ever the slightest bit. The Farmer shivered. _From the wind,_ he told himself.

The music swelled, and Alex took a confident step forwards.

The Farmer followed, feet moving as gracefully as possible in the sand as Alex led him through something between swing and a waltz. As they moved, steps following the rise and fall of the music, the Farmer found himself pleasantly surprised at Alex’s dancing chops. _Anyone with quads that huge has no right to be moving this...lithely_ , he remarked to himself. What his friend’s movements lacked in artistic flair he made up for in sheer athleticism; each step and turn was not so much balletic as it was technical, but each step landed and pivoted exactly where it was meant to. Or at least, if it didn’t, Alex gave nothing away.

He was about to voice this thought to Alex, but the compliment died on his tongue as quickly as it had materialized. As they spun, the Farmer caught sight of a cocky smirk that had made its home on Alex’s face once again.

His own expression darkened. Alex may be a decent dancer, but the Farmer wasn’t about to let that fact derail his original mission.

To his surprise, Alex suddenly tilted him backwards. He yelped. The firm hand on his hip disappeared, and in an instant, the Farmer was falling. The sandy beach spun away as the starry sky flew up into view.

Alex’s hand appeared again, about a foot lower this time, to catch the Farmer in a low dip. Alex grinned mischievously down at him.

The Farmer scowled back. “I need to talk to you,” he hissed, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Alex swung him upright. “I don’t feel like talking,” he said, leading the Farmer in the previous direction across the beach. He spun the Farmer first away, then back, curling him inwards until they were face to face.

Their noses nearly touching, the Farmer stood his ground. “You don’t have a choice,” he retorted. “Something’s going on and I want to know what.”

Alex scoffed, spinning the Farmer back out with a tad more force than necessary. The Farmer caught the end of Alex’s outstretched hand and felt the force of the move flick through his body. The music quickened. Alex resumed his guiding step, pace more urgent than before, as the Farmer gathered his bearings. “I told you,” Alex said, gritted teeth no more than an inch from the Farmer’s ear. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The Farmer planted his right foot in the sand. It threw off Alex’s leading gait, causing the man to nearly stumble. “So you admit there’s an ‘it’”? The Farmer accused. His brow arched challengingly as he searched Alex’s face.

Alex glared at him through narrowed eyes, picking up the dance where they had left off with renewed authority in his gait. “There’s no ‘it’”, he growled.

The Farmer held tight to Alex’s hand, holding it above his head and using it to spin himself around. When he finished, it was his turn to speak into Alex’s ear. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” he murmured.

The music grew to a crescendo. Alex grabbed the Farmer by the waist and pulled him away, twisting their bodies until the Farmer felt Alex’s thick forearms hook underneath him. Alongside the rising symphony, Alex lifted the Farmer into the air like he weighed nothing. The Farmer barely had time to yelp as he was swung around Alex’s waist, first one way, then the other.

The Farmer clutched wildly at Alex’s hands as he was flown high above the ground. His lids pressed tightly shut, teeth gritted, he prayed to Yoba that Alex was as strong as he thought he was.

Alex set the Farmer down for only a fraction of a second before his huge hands dug into the Farmer’s waist and lifted him once more.

The Farmer watched the ground become the sky, and vice versa, as he was flipped backwards over Alex’s shoulder to land on his feet on the other side. Dazed, he barely registered as Alex’s hand slipped to his back and dropped him yet again, dipping the Farmer almost to the ground in a grande finale alongside the final notes of the song.

Alex stood in the newfound silence, breathing hard, holding the Farmer almost parallel to the ground. The Farmer’s brain swam as he tried to collect himself.

A chorus of applause and cheers erupted from all around them. A few guests whistled loudly, one unmistakably coming from Marnie.

The Farmer was unceremoniously pulled up from the dip and set back down on his feet. He wobbled slightly before finding his footing. _Yoba,_ was all he could think, staring down at the sand as his world spun.

“Farmer, that was amazing!” a child’s voice called out. Vincent appeared directly in front of the Farmer’s face. The Farmer shut one eye in hopes that would fix his double vision. “Such sweet moves!” Vincent said.

“Yeah, Farmer!” Jas exclaimed, popping up from behind the other child. “You were flying!”

“Would Mr. Alex throw me around like that, do you think?” Vincent asked. His eyes were round like saucers, sparkling in wonder.

The grip of dizziness finally ebbed, leaving the Farmer lucid enough to speak. “Uh, I’ll ask him, pal,” the Farmer offered. He tousled Vincent’s hair. “Hey, here’s an idea, why don’t you ask Miss Haley if they can play the Chicken Dance? You guys like that one, right?”

Jas and Vincent’s faces both lit up. “Good idea Farmer!” Jas squealed. She grabbed Vincent by the arm and sprinted off in Haley’s general direction.

The Farmer straightened, and cast a searching gaze across the beach. Dinner tables were in the midst of being vacated in favor of the dance floor, with a few stumbling villagers already two-stepping their way through an old song the Farmer didn’t recognize.

He spotted Evelyn and George at the edge of the dance floor; Evelyn had George’s hands in her own and was making him clap along to the beat, much to his apparent distaste. What was going on behind Evelyn and George, however, was of much greater interest to him. Over Evelyn’s shoulder, the Farmer spotted Alex walking away, towards the pier. His form was partially obscured by the darkness beyond the party lights, but the cheerless slump of his gridballer shoulders was unmistakable.

WIth a quick once-over of the crowd— _yep, too drunk to notice—_ the Farmer slipped away to follow his friend.

  
  


Alex pulled back and released the rock with a sidelong flick of his fingers. The rock sailed across the calm water. It skipped once, twice, three times, before plunging into the reflection of the moon and sinking into space.

His legs swung freely from the pier, dress pants rolled up to his knees, shoes kicked off long ago. He kicked his feet absently. This was the first summer he hadn’t been nightswimming; he missed the baptismal feeling of dunking his head into that endless pool of water and starlight.

It was usually a nightly midsummer ritual for Alex, but the stress of the wedding had all but killed that desire this year. The urge tonight, however, was greater than ever. The water was a field of polished glass, reflecting a near-perfect image of the moon and stars above him, making it difficult to know where ocean ended and sky began. The soft breeze didn’t dare disturb the water, but it did carry to Alex the clarifying scent of the sea. He extended his hands, cupping the air and bringing it up and over his head. Down his arms. Into his eyes and ears and nose. He breathed deeply, feeling the salty air fill his lungs.

The breeze swirled around him, bringing another scent to his nose. Earthy. Warm. He knew the source even before it sat down by his side.

The Farmer kicked his shoes off, setting them down neatly beside Alex’s overturned left shoe. The right one was nowhere to be found. After rolling up his pants as well, he settled down lightly on the pier. Neither one said a word.

A millimeter of space separated the two of them. Alex could feel it like it was an electric fence, threatening instantaneous death upon anyone who dared touch it. Every one of his muscles tensed as he willed his body to turn to stone. Completely still.

The Farmer inhaled deeply. His lungs expanded, filling with ocean air. His shoulder lightly brushed Alex’s.

Alex flinched without really meaning to. It had popped his bubble, released his tripwire. A bonfire spark on his skin.

The Farmer flinched too, but not in the same way. He recoiled as if Alex had slapped him. Alex winced, a gush of remorse flooding his stomach. His muscles screamed to close the distance, to right that wrong. But he didn’t.

“Alex”, the Farmer said.

The ocean lapped against the pier. The Farmer did not close the distance between them again.

“Do you remember that time I found you talking to Dusty?” the Farmer said.

Alex sat completely still. He did remember. The Farmer was on a very short list of people—and dogs—who knew the truth about what had happened to him. What his father had done to him. The Farmer was on an even shorter list of people who had made him _feel_ the way he did after telling them. Where everyone else had made Alex feel like his stomach was full of rocks, the Farmer made him feel...lighter. Somehow.

Alex turned his neck, ever so slightly, to sneak a glance at the Farmer. His friend was staring at the reflection of the stars in the water below. No expectant stare. Just a listening ear.

Several minutes passed before Alex swallowed the thing that had been gripping his throat for the past three days. “I’m...scared,” Alex said.

The Farmer said nothing. Not because he was taken aback, but because Alex knew his friend understood exactly what he meant.

“I don’t want to get caught, Farmer,” Alex continued. He dropped his head to stare straight down into the depths of the water. “I keep imagining—” He stopped. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. After a few moments, he swallowed thickly, and turned to fully look at the Farmer. “This is gonna _break her heart,”_ Alex whispered, voice breaking. “My grandma.”

The Farmer turned, and met his gaze. Alex’s eyes were frightened and filled with regret. Before Alex could react, the Farmer threw his arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Alex fumbled around before gripping the Farmer’s suit jacket tightly, balling the blue fabric up in his fists. He returned the embrace with equal, if not greater, force.

“No one’s getting caught, Alex,” the Farmer said into his shoulder, voice slightly muffled. “And no one’s getting their heart broken, either. Please trust me.”

Alex nodded. He gripped the Farmer tighter.

“I’m serious,” the Farmer continued. “You did this all for _me,_ remember? I will never let anything bad happen to you or your grandparents because of this. I promise.”

Alex swallowed. “And...sorry for being an ass tonight,” he murmured.

The Farmer laughed brightly. “You _were_ laying it on a little thick,” he teased. “I thought you might knock all my teeth out with that kiss.”

Alex blushed furiously, thankful the Farmer couldn’t see his face right then.

“S’not all bad,” the Farmer said, pretending to muse. “Those dance moves, for example. Have you seen what’s going on back at the party? Old people and two-stepping. Can you believe it? At _Alex Mullner’s_ wedding. Someone needs to go show them a thing or two.”

An uncontrollable fit of laughter bubbled out of Alex. He broke the hug to gasp for air. The Farmer’s eyes were twinkling with mirth as he watched Alex laugh, biting his lip to keep his own giggling at bay. The Farmer got to his feet, offering Alex a hand. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll get Haley to play Paradise City.”

Alex took his hand, feeling lighter already.


End file.
